Smile, Sunshine
by CitrusVeins
Summary: About halfway through his walk home on that fateful day, Bakugou had noticed something odd on his cup. Something different. His name was written clear and neat in black Sharpie. That was fine. That wasn't the problem. It was that something else was there, barely peeking out from under his thumb and when he moved it, he immediately frowned. It was a smiley face. Coffee Shop AU


The coffee shop was peculiar with, in Bakugou's humble opinion, a stupid name. A weird little business that Bakugou would have normally avoided like the plague had everything from the shop not tasted like it literally just came from heaven. It was quaint, to say the least. Nothing to write home about and trying to keep that coffee shop appeal with all brown and cream tones, as one would expect. It was a brick building with hanging baskets on either side of the door, spilling over with green vines and colourful flowers Bakugou couldn't even attempt to name. The windows were bordered with chipped filigree clearly painted on a while ago in white and gold that had been faded and weakened by the sun. In its defense, it only served to add to the rustic charm of the place. A sandwich board often sat outside with daily specials scrawled on it with bright chalk and sometimes a quote that was meant to be uplifting, which Bakugou tended to look away from. He never really strayed far from his usual order anyways, special or no special, and the quote didn't do much to lift his mood. Above it all, spanning the length of the small storefront, was a black awning with a ruffled bottom, the words _Just Brew It _written in neat, white cursive.

Stupid name.

The inside was about the same; stereotypical with a few features betraying the building's age. The air was steeped in scents ranging from aromatic coffee to the fresh pastries being baked in the back. The shop was flooded with dim, warm lighting and lilting music played in the background, barely audible above all the other sounds. The hardwood floor was scuffed from the chairs and tables being dragged around, but still relatively well taken care of and blanketed in rugs reminiscent of grandmother aesthetic. Most of the chairs were of the metal variety, not exactly comfortable, but there were a few armchairs and one green couch that sagged in the middle. Bakugou preferred to sit in the large, well-worn armchair that sat by the window when he chose to stay. It was obviously too heavy to bother moving and its colour was split nearly in half - one side a deep, rusty red, the other side sun-faded into a burnt-orange.

Bakugou wouldn't say that it was his most favourite place to go to, but he did find himself going there nearly every weekday to order a large dark roast (two cream, three sugar) and sometimes a pastry if the mood struck. For this reason, he became a sort of a regular and got to know the employees' faces as much as they got to know his. There didn't seem to be a high turnover rate, but, other than a few brief encounters, Bakugou really only noticed three employees working there. One employee was a guy with blonde hair that seemed to spend his entire shift flirting with damn near anyone who came in, which was shut down immediately on Bakugou's end. There was a girl with obnoxiously pink hair that he rarely got see and figured she must've only worked weekends and maybe the odd cover shift. She seemed pretty laid back most of the time and far too cheery, but he did have the privilege of witnessing her chew out an irate and entitled customer who she scolded all the way out of the shop. The third employee was this smiley motherfucker with shitty red hair that Bakugou had mixed feelings about.

That employee was friendly enough, sure, and everything had _started _fine. The redhead would make small conversation whenever Bakugou would come in and order. Simple things like asking how his day was or commenting on the weather, to which Bakugou would respond with monosyllabic answers or grunts before they both carried on with their day as barista and customer. His mother informed him one time when she tagged along that this particular barista was "cute" and "polite" and would "make a good friend." He decided to not go to the coffee shop with her anymore after that, opting to pick her up a baked good some days so she wouldn't bitch too much when he wandered home. Regardless, Bakugou could see where his mother was coming from to some degree. The barista was… nice? Not that it really mattered, he just wanted coffee. Bakugou never really had a problem with the guy other than the one time the barista caught him off guard by asking simply - genuinely - if he ever smiled. To which Bakugou replied a flustered "No" and fled to the other side of the counter to wait for his coffee, seething quietly to himself. Even then, nothing changed. Everything was fine and happened exactly the way it always did until one day it didn't and, not that Bakugou was really _blaming _anyone, it was that barista's fault.

About halfway through his walk home on that fateful day, Bakugou had noticed something odd on his cup. Something different. His name was written clear and neat in black Sharpie. That was fine. _That _wasn't the problem. It was that something else was there, barely peeking out from under his thumb and when he moved it, he immediately frowned. It was a smiley face.

What the fuck did _that _mean?

Bakugou would've liked to say that he shrugged it off and continued on as though nothing happened. He would've liked to say that he didn't finish his coffee and proceed to glance at the smiley face on and off for the rest of the day trying to decipher what it _meant_.

The barista didn't _seem _more cheerful than usual. He didn't mention any exciting news (Why would he? Why would Bakugou _care_?) and he didn't confuse Bakugou's order with someone else's. So why the doodle? There was a brief moment when Bakugou logically deduced that maybe it really didn't mean anything. It wasn't unheard of, after all. He'd seen smiley faces and hearts and other little doodles or phrases like _Thanks! _scribbled hastily onto cups. Maybe he was just trying something new. Maybe he wanted to add a bit of flourish to liven up his own day. Maybe it _really didn't mean anything_.

Bakugou quickly decided that that was a stupid idea.

No. The barista never did this before. There was a reason for it.

Bakugou went there the next day. Same order, same barista, same one-sided small talk. And on his cup? Nothing. Just his name. Like nothing happened. Like that very same barista didn't scribble a _smiley face _after his name the day before.

So he went the day after.

And the next.

And the next.

It all went back to normal. Which was good, besides the nagging voice in the back of his mind asking still asking, "Why?" He quieted it down with the simple response of, "People are spontaneous and weird. It meant _nothing_." Bakugou was really starting to believe that too until the routine was broken again.

As soon as he left the shop and was away from the front window, he looked down at the cup to inspect his name, as he now did. He wasn't about to do that inside the shop lest the barista saw his completely rational reaction to something as simple as a smiley face drawn on his cup. He felt his heart sink in a strange twist of anxiety when he saw that the name on the cup didn't start with a "B," but rather an "S." For a moment he thought maybe he has taken someone else's drink, he hadn't tasted it after all, but he continued to read. And then sneered as he whispered a harsh, "What the fuck?" to himself.

The cup read _Sunshine _followed by a little smiling sun. Why the _fuck _was that written on his cup?

He briefly realized that he may have looked slightly bizarre standing there, glaring holes into the cup, and debated on going back into the shop (To return it?) because this - _this _\- was intentional. _This _meant something. This was blatantly done, for some reason still unbeknownst to him, but blatantly done nonetheless. Bakugou turned sharply on his heel and took a step towards the shop and then halted immediately, a sneer plastered onto his face. What if the barista _wanted _a reaction? Bakugou squinted at the writing as though it would cave and give him all the answers he needed, but, unsurprisingly, it didn't.

Logically, the barista wanted to elicit _some _kind of response by doing this; Bakugou highly doubted he was in the habit of giving every customer a cutesy nickname like he was best friends with everyone. But why him? Bakugou pressed his lips together in thought, trying to plan his next course of action. He was explosive, he knew this. He could feel the anger rolling under his skin as he continued to stare at the coffee in his hand and everything in his body was _screaming _at him to confront the barista in an aggressive display of confused frustration. But that would be a reaction...

He could just go to another coffee shop. He could go against his instincts and just drop the whole thing. But that would _also _be a reaction. Maybe that was part of the barista's plan anyway. Fewer customers mean less work right? Start picking them off one by one? Bakugou eventually folded and admitted that that was a stupid idea, but hey, the barista seemed pretty stupid. One thing he was 100% sure of - 99%, 95%, maybe 85% - the barista was doing _something _for _some reason _and he would not stand for it. Reacting in some way, in any way, would be exactly what the redhead wanted and Bakugou refused to give in to that. He wouldn't _lose_. He'd ignore it. Act like he saw nothing and act like nothing was different.

So he did.

And it got worse. Nothing "bad" really, at least nothing offensive, but enough to really try Bakugou's already limited patience. It was arguably impressive, in fact. Progressively more elaborate and creative, and every day, as soon as Bakugou rounded the corner, he'd look at the cup. Was this how people with unique names felt at Starbucks? No, he supposed not. _Their _baristas weren't butchering their names out of what may or may not be malicious intent.

He had begun showing some of the cups to his mother who seemed to be absolutely _delighted_, much to his annoyance. "He's just having fun," she tried to reassure him, debating on using some of the nicknames herself. "You're being paranoid." "He's probably bored." And the worst, "Maybe he _likes you_," said in the most obnoxious sing-song voice Bakugou had ever heard, a wicked smile stretching across her face. She wasn't helpful. She was a _nightmare. _

"Just be on my fucking side for once!" He practically begged, desperate for her to agree that maybe it was a little weird.

"Anyone brave or stupid enough to reach out to you is okay in my books."

It went on and on, Bakugou stubbornly not saying anything, not visibly reacting, and the barista doing the _exact fucking thing_. He felt like he was holding a staring contest with someone who was coolly acting like they didn't know that they were playing, but was winning anyway. Bakugou's eyes were burning and watering and his eyes were fine. And, as much as Bakugou desperately tried to win, he finally blinked.

It was cold and rainy and he had his stupid dog, Grenade (because Prince Explosion Murder was too violent, apparently), walking as if he were part snail. When he left his house, it wasn't like this. It wasn't even close to being like this! The sun was shining and the sky was only filled with fluffy, white clouds. Perfect weather for a coffee run, his mother had said. Grenade would love it, his mother had said. She may have been right. The useless dog was plodding along without a care in the world, sniffing every post, clump of grass, and building corner. The stupid coffee shop with the stupid name and stupid barista was just up ahead. Thank _god_. He was going to order two danishes - no, a whole fucking box - and eat it all in front of his mother for even suggesting the walk. At this point he didn't even care how sick he'd get from eating that much sugar in one sitting, crushing her heart like the flaky pastry of the danishes would be worth it. Deciding that he could no longer wait for Grenade, he picked up the squirming and growling dog and jogged his way to the door of the coffee shop.

The warmth hit him like a wall when he opened the door and he immediately caught eyes with the pink-haired barista and _the _barista. He was glad to see that the shop was empty. He didn't _really _care, but he'd rather look like a drowned rat holding onto a snarling puff-ball of a dog in front of two people rather than a whole shop full. "Can I just—"

"No dogs," the girl interjected with an apologetic smile when Bakugou attempted to haul Grenade upwards to gesture at him.

"But—"

"No dogs," she repeated, still pleasant, still apologetic, but with an unwavering gaze that screamed 'try me.'

"I can't fucking _leave _him out there!" He protested one more time, narrowing his eyes right back at her. She shrugged her shoulders and pushed herself off of the counter she was leaning against, patting the other barista on his arm as she headed to the back.

"No dogs." Bakugou formed a tight line with his mouth, biting the inside of his lips to stop himself from making a scene for a decidedly small audience. He turned around with a loud sigh that could only rival the most rebellious of teenagers, snapped a few choice words, and went outside to tie Grenade to a post under the awning. When he came back inside, he stormed towards the counter, determined to be done with this walk, this coffee run, this _day_. He slammed the money down for one large coffee, glaring at the barista in front of him, daring him to say _anything_. Bakugou felt his heart hammer in his chest in anger when he noticed that the barista was smiling to himself in amusement and Bakugou wanted nothing more than to rip that smile from his face and chuck it into a blender.

"Nice out, huh?" The barista joked instead and Bakugou swore he heard his neck snap at the way he tilted his head.

"It's. _Fucking_. Raining." If that offended the barista, he didn't show it. Instead, he paused in writing his name on the cup to regard him, like he had just noticed he was fucking soaked head to toe.

"So it is."

Bakugou grabbed his coffee once it was done without so much as a thank you or a goodbye and left the shop after violently swinging the door open. It was when he was untying Grenade that he saw it.

Not a nickname. Not a doodle. But _a _name. Not _his _name.

_"Kirishima" _followed by a fucking _phone number_.

Bakugou tried to will it away but he couldn't ignore the heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, burning the very tips of his ears. No. _No_. Not today. Not today when he was already vibrating with rage. He picked the dog up so quickly that he half barked and half squawked in protest and shoved open the shop's door with his shoulder.

"_You,_" He hissed, stalking over to the counter where this "Kirishima" was busy cleaning.

"No dogs!" The girl called as she poked her head out from the back, throwing her hands up in exasperation when _Kirishima _waved her away with a small smile. Bakugou shoved the coffee towards him, phone number pointing outwards.

"I don't fucking _want _this."

"The coffee?" Bakugou froze for a moment, caught off-guard and briefly wondering if it were possible to die from sheer rage.

"No," he ground out, leaning in a bit, "I want the coffee. I don't want what's fucking _on _the coffee!" Kirishima's brows scrunched together, but Bakugou saw it. The slight smirk. The tiniest fucking quirk at the corner of his mouth and he saw _red_.

"The sleeve…?" He wanted to scream. He really, truly wanted to scream. "I can give you another one."

"You are a _fucking _piece of _shit_! I don't want what's on the sleeve! I don't want it!" Kirishima stared at him passively and all he could hear was the rushing in his ears and his laboured breathing. But Kirishima wasn't doing anything. "Well!?"

"So…" Kirishima began, almost as though he was choosing his words carefully despite being well beyond that point. "Take the sleeve off?" Immediately Bakugou opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut, squinting at the barista, trying to find his angle. It was his turn to choose his words carefully.

"...No," he decidedly said, straightening back up from leaning over the counter. "I'm keeping it…?" It kind of sounded like a question. Kirishima smiled unsurely at the way Bakugou was slowly speaking but nodded anyway.

"Oh, okay. Good then." Still squinting, Bakugou nodded as well and started to head away.

"I'm going to sign this number up for fucking _everything _I can find," Bakugou announced when he was at the door, pointing the coffee back into Kirishima's direction. "I'm going to annoy the shit out of you every day." Kirishima laughed and Bakugou hated the way his brain announced that it liked how that laugh sounded.

"You already come in here every day already, so…" No. Now his brain loudly claimed that it did not like how that laugh sounded.

"I won't be anymore!" Bakugou snapped, practically booting the door open, the bell jingling harshly as he stormed back out into the rain.

Just as the door closed, he heard a response.

"That's okay!"

Bakugou put Grenade down as gently as he could with his body shaking in anger and slammed his middle finger against the window, dragging it along the glass as he walked away. Safely out of sight and tucked under another awning, Bakugou rapidly punched the phone number into his phone.

_I'm not letting you have the last fucking word_. He hit send with way more force than necessary and slumped against the wall. The phone almost immediately buzzed in his hand.

_Ok :) _


End file.
